


sleepless cinderella - sicheng

by starlightkun



Series: sleepless cinderella (wayv) [4]
Category: NCT (Band), WAYV
Genre: Actor Dong Si Cheng | WinWin, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Journalist Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:02:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26563312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightkun/pseuds/starlightkun
Summary: in which you have to make a deal in order to get this article done
Relationships: Dong Si Cheng | WinWin/Reader
Series: sleepless cinderella (wayv) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1931839
Comments: 1
Kudos: 29





	sleepless cinderella - sicheng

Just over a week later, and you were roused from another unproductive session of staring at your laptop screen by Chengxiao. She was dressed in a black cocktail dress, silver heels, with her makeup and hair done up. The stark opposite of your current state of sweatpants, a graphic t-shirt from high school, and greasy hair haphazardly pulled back from your face.

And she was rifling through your drawers as you watched her with confusion.

“Xiao?”

“Yeah?” She replied over her shoulder, not even looking back at you.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for your silver clutch. I have a date tonight.”

“You mean the one on top of my dresser, right in front of your face?”

Chengxiao popped up enthusiastically, “Oh! Yeah, that one!”

“And why yes, you can borrow it. Thanks for asking.”

“Oh please, this was Xuanyi’s first.”

With a noncommittal grumble, you returned to your laptop screen. Your roommate left your room, but returned only a moment later, squealing at a frequency you were sure could damage your ears soon if she didn’t stop.

“Y/N! Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!”

“What now, Xiao? Come to take my strapless bra too?”

“No, I’m already wearing it.”

You rolled your eyes, but then saw a small slip of paper in her fingers.

She held it out to you, still bouncing on her feet, “You didn’t tell me you got one!”

“I got what?” You took the paper from her, eyes squinting over the unfamiliar numbers.

“Someone’s number! And by _someone_ , I mean one of the VIP lounge members! How could you not tell us that?”

Your lip was curled up in confusion as you kept reading the numbers over and over again. Honestly, you’d only looked in your clutch once since you left the lounge, and it was that night to get your phone. Therefore, the fact that you missed this didn’t surprise you at all. But the fact that it was even in there _did_ surprise you.

“So who do you think it is?” Chengxiao sat down beside you, shoving your laptop across your bed in the process. “Ten seemed like the type, right? Or Yukhei! He really wanted you to come back. Oh, that one guy who kissed your hand? Wait, they were all pretty forward. If it was _secretly_ snuck into your clutch then it was probably someone who was a bit shyer, right? But I mean, these are just my guesses, I wasn’t up there with you. Did any of them seem into you?”

Blinking, you took a moment to fully process the relentless stream of words that had just come at you. You were still silent a moment later, trying to think of any other reason why you’d have this number and whose it was. Definitely not a VIP member’s, probably some other random person from the party.

Your doorbell rang, and Chengxiao stood up with a groan, “Okay, that’s my date. You better text them while I’m gone, Y/N. I want to know everything when I get back, okay?”

You numbly gave a thumbs-up before she traipsed out of your room.

Well, you were a journalist, right? And what sort of journalist _wouldn’t_ try to investigate a mysterious number they were given?

[you: hello? who is this?]

Lame, admittedly, but you couldn’t think of anything else to say.

They texted back just a minute later.

[xxx-546-xxxx: who is this?]

[you: considering you snuck your number into my clutch, i think you should answer it first]

[xxx-546-xxxx: oh, it’s you]

[you: still don’t know who you are]

[xxx-546-xxxx: did you just find it or have you been avoiding texting me this whole time?]

[you: who. are. you.]

[xxx-546-xxxx: sicheng]

Your eyebrows shot up, shock settling in over your previous annoyance. Why the fuck would _Dong Sicheng_ slip you his number? Especially when he didn’t seem too thrilled at your presence before.

[you: okay, why?]

Upfront. No way you’d get your hopes up or down. You were just confused.

[sicheng: i’m at the lounge right now. meet me there]

[you: why?]

No response. You doubted that he just suddenly got busy and couldn’t reply. Sighing, you shut your laptop, unplugged your phone, and got dressed into clothes that you could wear out into the real world.

* * *

Dong Sicheng was, in fact, in the lounge.

And he was definitely waiting for someone, as he was sat at one of the high-top tables against the window, delicate fingers stirring around the ice in his glass as another was placed in front of the seat across from him.

His eyes flicked up to look at you as the elevator doors closed behind you. He didn’t seem surprised at all. With little grandeur, he gestured to the seat.

You obliged, sitting across from him as you kept studying him with intrigue. There was no way Dong Sicheng had actually slipped you his number because he was into you in any way. Now you just had to figure out why he actually did.

“You’re a journalist,” he stated, earning a short nod from you.

There was a beat of silence. Sicheng looked as if he was waiting for you to say something, but so far he hadn’t said anything that warranted a reply from you.

“And you don’t have a topic for your final article yet, right?”

“I’m considering a few options.”

“Well, how would you like to interview me?”

Your eyebrows shot up before you could stop them. There was no concealing your look of surprise. After all, Dong Sicheng had denied interviews since the beginnings of his career, from every top and reputable news site or magazine. And now he was _offering_ to do an interview with you, an unknown journalism grad student. So you were a little suspicious.

“Really?” Was what your brain apparently decided to say as you crossed your arms over your chest defensively.

“Yes, really.”

Despite his words being affirmative, he had a small sneer on his face, as if his body was rejecting what he was saying.

Uncrossing your arms, you leaned forward in your chair with a short sigh, “Sure, yeah, I’ll interview you, WinWin.”

“That’s not my name!” He snapped, voice much harsher than you’d heard thus far. Clearly, you’d struck a chord with him.

“Sorry, sorry,” you muttered, still startled as you restarted your statement. “Yes, I’d love to interview you, Sicheng.”

Sicheng visibly relaxed again as he briefly checked the time on his phone, “Can we start now?”

“Uh, yes!”

As you took out your phone to begin jotting notes down, your brain went into overdrive trying to think up a question that wouldn’t be intrinsically trite, but also wouldn’t be found in a cheap tabloid.

“What was your favorite subject in school?”

Sicheng seemed wholly unimpressed, “Seriously?”

“You asked me to interview you. My interview, my questions.”

“Fine. Uhm, foreign language, I guess.”

“What language did you study?”

“I speak five languages.”

“Wow,” you breathed out as you wrote it down. “Which ones?”

“Mandarin, Cantonese, Korean, English, and Japanese,” he listed them out. “But I struggle with all five of them.”

You tried to hold back your snort of amusement as you added that into your notes.

“Now I have a question for you.”

“I know you’ve never done an interview _ever_ , Sicheng, but that’s not how this works.”

The actor rolled his eyes, “I know. Now will you let me finish?”

You blinked innocently as you waved a hand for him to continue.

“Tomorrow night, I have a red-carpet before a showing of the pilot of my new drama.”

You’re still looking at him with mild confusion, unsure as to why he was telling you this. Sicheng sighed, even more annoyed with you now.

Taking a guess, you said with a shake of your head, “Oh, there’s no way I’ll be able to get a press pass to that—”

“You don’t need one, you’ll be going with me,” he said this as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Which it most definitely _wasn’t_.

“This is not how an interview works.”

“If you want to interview me—”

“Might I remind you that _you_ snuck _your_ number into _my_ clutch and asked _me_ to interview _you_?”

Sicheng crossed his arms. He remained silent, apparently waiting for you to reply to his earlier request.

Your lips flattened into a line as you let out a short sigh through your nose. Finally, you said, “Fine.”

He nodded in acknowledgement, moving to stand up, “I’ll ask for your address tomorrow. 6 p.m.”

“Okay.”

Then he was gone, and you were left thinking about what the hell just happened.

* * *

“Xiao!” You yelled out into your apartment, desperately looking through your jewelry box. “Hey! Chengxiao! I know you’re home!”

“I am, but I am also terrified,” her voice came from your doorway, and you turned around to see her peeking just her head in.

Standing up, you had your hands on your hips, “Did you take my earrings too?”

“What?”

“My silver and opal earrings that were in my jewelry box yesterday morning but have mysteriously disappeared.”

“Uhm,” she touched her ears nervously, and that’s when you saw the silver flash on her lobes.

“You did!”

Chengxiao hurried to take them out and give them back to you, “Here, here. Sorry, I forgot to put them back.”

You took a deep breath, well aware of how stressed and snappy you were being right now. The fact that you were going to a red carpet event with Dong Sicheng and you were the first person to ever get an interview with him might just be getting to you.

“Sorry, it’s okay. Thanks for giving them back,” you shook your head, leaning in front of your mirror to put them in your own lobes.

“So what are you wearing?” Your friend started looking through your closet.

“Uh, my _only_ nice dress.”

“Fair.”

“Y/N?” Another familiar voice called for you, and it sounded like it was coming from your front door.

Your heart leapt to your throat as you thought that Sicheng might be here. He wasn’t supposed to pick you up for another hour, and you were nowhere near ready.

“In my room!” You cried back out to Xuanyi, rushing to pull out your dress and heels.

She appeared in your room as well, looking almost relieved, “Oh good, you haven’t left yet.”

“Nope, not for another hour,” you were definitely the most relieved, your blood pressure already going back down.

“I got something for you!” Xuanyi held out a plastic bag towards you.

You accepted it with a happy confusion, pulling out the contents. It was a dark black clutch with silver accents, that would go with most anything you could possibly wear. You looked back up at her, waiting for an explanation as to the sudden gift.

“So I can finally have _my_ clutch back,” she explained, snatching it from the top of your dresser, where Chengxiao had returned it after her date last night.

With a chuckle, you thanked her, and resumed your process of getting ready, accompanied and assisted by your roommates. You’d just adjusted your hair in your mirror when you heard Chengxiao yell out your name. Rushing out of your room, you saw her holding your phone out to you.

“WinWin says he’s here.”

“His name is Sicheng, I have no clue how or why people started calling him that. He hates being called WinWin, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I learned that the hard way yesterday,” your eyes habitually rolled as you recalled the memory.

You grabbed your phone from her hand and headed for your door, throwing a goodbye over your shoulder to your friends.

On the sidewalk outside your apartment building, you spotted a sleek black car parked just a few feet away. The window of the backseat rolled down just enough to reveal a set of familiar eyes. You walked over to the car, the door being thrown open from the inside.

You climbed in beside Sicheng, offering him a hesitant greeting.

“What took you so long?”

“I live on the sixth floor,” you deadpanned. “Which, I’m guessing, is why you didn’t come up to get me.”

At his silence, you rolled your eyes and brought your phone out of your new black clutch.

“I have a few more questions.”

By the time you reached the venue, Sicheng seemed annoyed by your interviewing him. Which was fucking ridiculous, he _asked_ you to interview him. This whole situation felt so off to you. Especially when the driver stopped the car right in front of where the red carpet started. _You_ weren’t going to actually walk the red carpet, right?

But then suddenly Sicheng wasn’t beside you anymore and instead he was outside the car, opening your door for you and offering you a hand. And your heart stopped. You looked at him with a mild face of fear, and he stuck his hand further towards you insistently.

“Did you practice your smile?”

“You didn’t tell me I was going _on_ the red carpet!”

“What did you expect?” He snorted, taking it upon himself to grab your hand. “Now come on, the sooner we go the sooner it’s over with, okay?”

You gripped his hand back and let him help you out of the car. Squaring your shoulders, you couldn’t help clutching your bag until your knuckles were white as you approached the carpet. Flashes went off, successfully blinding you for a good part of it, which was either a blessing or a curse depending on how you looked at it.

Sicheng moved to instead offer his elbow out to you, and you gratefully accepted it, instinctively pressing close to his side. In this completely unfamiliar scenario, you couldn’t help but cling to the only thing that was somewhat familiar to you for comfort.

Surprisingly, he provided you with some, moving his arm again to instead rub the small of your back soothingly. He leaned in towards your ear as the cameras kept going off.

“Smile, Y/N. You look like I’m holding you hostage.”

“Aren’t you?” You said back through clenched teeth.

He shook his head, pulling away from you with a fond smile. You plastered on your own smile as you looked back to the cameras again. Various reporters tried to thrust microphones towards you two, yelling out questions that you couldn’t decipher over the pure sensory overload flooding into your brain in that moment.

Finally, you were at the other end, entering into the theater and away from the flashing cameras and insistent press. Thank god you weren’t going to be _that_ kind of journalist. You didn’t think you’d be cut out for being a vulture.

Inside, you immediately let go of Sicheng’s arm and took a step away from him, catching your breath. A woman dashed up to the two of you, a look of surprise so wide across her face that it almost seemed mocking. She was definitely familiar to you, but you couldn’t put your finger on it.

“Never did I ever think I’d see the day Sicheng brought a date to a red-carpet event!” She practically squealed, reminding you of Chengxiao when you told her about your attending the event in the first place.

Your shock at her words must have been apparent across your face as hers turned concerned and a little sheepish.

“Oh, I misread this didn’t I?”

“I’m—” Your attempt at explaining who you were and why you were there with Sicheng, he cut you off.

Suddenly his arm was around your shoulders and you were being pulled into his side, “Yep, my date. Y/N, this is Song Yuqi, my co-star. Yuqi, this is Y/L/N Y/N. My _date_.”

His introduction of you and stress on the word ‘date’ rendered you effectively speechless, looking down at your feet with burning cheeks. What was happening?

You could barely even process that you were currently conversing with Song Yuqi, an actress who you could now remember being in a few minor roles before. And you might have even asked if she was playing his love interest, or said anything mildly intelligent, instead you chewed on your lip as your nerves were effectively frazzled.

“Oh Y/N, you _have_ to come meet the rest of the cast. Xukun is _not_ going to believe this!” Yuqi seemed ecstatic, latching a hand around your wrist to pull you further into the building.

With Sicheng still attached to you, she didn’t get very far, as he dug his heels in.

“Hey, Y/N, you okay?” He asked you with some concern, then spoke to his co-star. “Give us a second, Yuqi. We’ll be right in there.”

Yuqi seemed unsure, but left the two of you alone nonetheless. Sicheng guided you over to the side of the entryway, away from all the people still coming in from the red-carpet.

As soon as you two were mostly out of sight, the concern dropped from his face and instead was replaced by… aggravation.

Your own shock faded away into something akin to rage. It was at least indignation, “Dong Sicheng what the _fuck_ was that?”

“I wasn’t about to tell them you were a journalist,” he retorted.

“Why not?”

“Because I _don’t_ _do interviews_.”

You didn’t think you could get any more indignant and offended, but you did, “Are you genuinely so embarrassed to be doing an interview that you’d rather lie about me being your date?”

“I mean—”

“Not to mention that my professor could choose my article to be published. What would you do then?”

“I hadn’t thought this far ahead! I just didn’t want anybody to find out I was doing an interview,” he snapped, and muttered the next part so quietly you almost didn’t hear it over the blood roaring angrily in your ears. “And for the media to stop saying that Yuqi and I were dating.”

“I—wait. What was that second part?”

“Uhm—”

“…you really are a drama actor, huh?”

“What?”

Rubbing your face in frustration, you didn’t even care if you unsettled some of your makeup. This was too ridiculous.

“You make half-assed plans that just end you up in new trouble. Fucking hell, fake-dating. How trite, cliché, and _stupid_ could you be?”

He didn’t seem to have a response, caught off-guard by your vehement cursing him out.

So you merely continued, “Listen here, Dong Sicheng, I am so not down to do the whole fake-dating thing and become the object of everyone’s spite and fascination just because you didn’t want people to think you and Yuqi were dating. This is purely an interview or it’s nothing at all.”

Sicheng took a deep breath, demeanor changing once again as he cocked his head to the side, “Then leave.”

“Excuse me?”

“You said it’s either purely an interview or nothing at all. Guess it’s nothing at all, then. That means you should leave.”

You were breathing heavily, still thoroughly pissed. But you had nothing to say. Not to mention, nowhere to go, either.

“Leave. Go around to the back, I’ll call my driver and he’ll take you home,” he directed you, also panting slightly as he straightened himself up in the reflection of his phone screen.

You were frozen to the spot for some reason. Sicheng looked at you over the phone when you still hadn’t left, a hint of a smirk coming to his face as he dropped his arm down.

“Or, you can stay, and we can come to an agreement. We keep up the fake-dating. You get to interview me, and I get the press off my ass about Yuqi and any other female I’ve ever looked at in my life.”

A moment passed by as you considered this. You were still upset that he tried to trick you into it at first. But this might just work.

“As long as you don’t get pissy as soon as I ask you any questions. You cooperate with the interview, and I’ll cooperate on the fake relationship,” you laid out your own terms, watching as one of his eyebrows arched just a little bit.

“Deal,” he stuck a hand out to you.

You went to grasp it for a handshake, but instead found yourself being deftly spun into his arms again. Your ankles nearly snapped in your heels, but you were kept upright by his arm wrapping around your waist this time.

* * *

“So what parts of your character do you feel reflect on your own personality?” You asked Sicheng as you held your fork out to him, watching with feigned affection as his lips wrapped around the bite of dessert perched on the end of it.

This was a rather… regular occurrence in your developing kind-of relationship. Sicheng had sold your initial appearance at that red-carpet event as his officially bringing you, his ‘girlfriend,’ out into the limelight. To capitalize on the fact that paparazzi would be more inclined to follow you out together, you had many public dates. Like now, when you met up for lunch.

Sicheng was hiding his annoyance as he chewed and swallowed the food in his mouth, then replied, “Not much. I would _not_ jump off an actual bridge for my significant other.”

“Spoilers!” As you fervently typed out his answer, you scolded him, having not been around when they were filming that scene, or caught up on the drama either.

“More spoilers, my character lives,” he scoffed, then swatted your phone out of your hand, narrowly missing sending it into your own plate of food. “Could you possibly be any more obvious that you’re writing down everything I say?”

You refrained from glaring at him, instead narrowing your eyes the tiniest bit as you accepted the forkful of food he fed to you. It would have registered as funny to you, the contrast between your lovey-dovey actions and your actual content of conversation and feelings, if you weren’t currently suppressing the urge to give him a good smack.

Turning your phone off, you offered him a stiff smile and swallowed your food. Your eyes drifted over to where you knew at least one paparazzi was lying in wait, camera snapping away. These pictures would end up everywhere, like they always did.

At first it was weird and difficult, trying to explain to your friends, family, and random acquaintances how exactly you’d began “dating” famous actor Dong Sicheng. Even Chengxiao and Xuanyi didn’t know the full story, something you still felt guilty about. To them, you and Sicheng had clicked at the VIP lounge that first night and didn’t want to admit the sudden nature of your relationship to the media.

To the media, you told them that you’d been dating for almost two years and had met by chance at an event. Half of that was right, at least. 

And then of course, to you two and the other members of the VIP lounge, you weren’t dating. They were the only people you could tell the truth to, Sicheng trusting them enough to keep your secret and understand the circumstances around it. Not to mention the two of you _needed_ a place that you didn’t have to act like a couple in, or you might actually kill each other.

They, of course, thought it was freaking hilarious. You knew that these pictures being taken right now would be added to the VIP member groupchat’s own Wall of Fame. Which so far just consisted of the pictures from your ‘dates’ with Sicheng that the other members thought were the funniest and wanted to share with the whole chat. Ones where either you looked ridiculously in love, or when glimpses of your true murderous wishes peeked through.

“Anyway, sounds like you’re a real romantic, Sicheng,” you informed him sarcastically, going back to his answer of your previous question. “But I didn’t mean something that specific. I meant something more like… how your character is loyal to only a select few people, for example. Or that he has a sweet tooth or whatever. I wasn’t asking if you’d jump off a bridge for someone.”

Sicheng looked about ready to snap back with something else but stopped himself. He had to hold up his end of the promise, to be cooperative. After all, he knew what would happen if he didn’t. There was one time you were out, and he was being all pissy and stubborn again, so you simply let go of his hand and left him. Right when you knew a group of giggling fans had been filming you from afar. A fight, in public. Just what the fake relationship did _not_ need.

“Okay, I guess the loyalty part is kind of right. Not the sweet-tooth, though. Oh, and I guess we have the same family dynamics, too.”

“So you’re a mommy’s boy?” You asked with a shit-eating grin on your face, stirring your straw through your drink in delight.

He groaned but was saved by the waiter coming by with the check.

As Sicheng stuck his card into the pouch, you thought to yourself that it was moments like these that you were kind of happy to be in this fake relationship with him. Free meals every time you went out. Because he of course _had_ to act like the perfect rich actor boyfriend and pay for everything for you.

The waiter ran his card, and Sicheng seemed to suddenly remember something as he reached across the table for your hand. You let him take it, wholly disinterested in the affection and instead focusing on what he was saying.

“I know tomorrow’s supposed to be dinner and more questions, but I have to cancel. Late-night filming.”

You lit up at this. It wasn’t frequently that Sicheng let you come watch filming, and the fact that he was telling you that it was happening was already a good sign. Maybe you could convince him to let you tag along. Not only was being on set a good way to get information on his co-stars, how filming a drama went, and where exactly the plot was headed, but you also usually had a good time. His co-stars had welcomed you in like family, not to mention that you got to see Dejun sometimes too, when he wasn’t busy directing. It was nice catching up with your childhood friend too. Even if your fake boyfriend didn’t like him.

“Then I’ll come with!”

He seemed ready to reject this idea, “Y/N—”

“Sicheng,” you mimicked his tone.

“It’ll be a bunch more spoilers.”

“Oh…” you pretended to weigh your options. “Let me think, nope, don’t care.”

Sicheng continued holding your gaze for a moment, “Fine.”

* * *

“Why don’t you like me coming to your filming anyway?” You questioned Sicheng as you followed him on-set.

This wasn’t a question for the interview, you were just genuinely curious. It seemed to be more that he just found you annoying, which was weird because you usually didn’t bother him much when you went to filming, anyway. You spent most of your time either mingling with other cast and crew members, or just silently watching off to the side.

“Y/N!” Someone called out your name ecstatically as soon as you stepped foot onto the street they’d closed off for filming.

“That’s why,” Sicheng deadpanned as you were suddenly tackled into a hug from the side.

It was Yuqi, and then another pair of arms were around the both of you, and you knew who that was too. Cai Xukun, the second male lead in the drama, of course. Yuqi was still clinging tight to your arm as her and the other actor pulled back from you, excitement glinting in her eyes.

“It’s been forever since you’ve been on set! Has Sicheng been keeping you locked up somewhere?” She asked, poking fun at your companion.

“No, no, I’ve been a little busy,” you fibbed, still thinking about what Sicheng had just said.

He didn’t like you coming… because you were friends with his co-stars? Surely, he couldn’t despise you so much that you even talking to other people he knew pissed him off. Right?

Xukun joined in, “Yeah, yeah, with your uh… what was it again? For grad school?”

“My final research piece.”

“Right, how’s that coming along?”

“Good,” you side-eyed Sicheng, well aware that you weren’t supposed to tell them that you were doing it on him. “At first I was pretty hesitant about doing it on this subject, but I think it’s coming along nicely now.”

“What is your subject?” Yuqi started leading your small group further down the street, towards the cameras.

As you wracked your brain for an idea, Ten suddenly popped into your head, “Oh, uhm, healthcare.”

Yuqi seemed about to reply when her head shot up attentively. Her name must have been called, as she excused herself before trotting off to somewhere else. You heard Sicheng’s name as well, and he left you with a short phrase and squeeze on the shoulder.

“Director Xiaojun is about to beat your boyfriend’s ass,” Xukun informed you with a snicker.

Your eyes followed Sicheng as he did, in fact, approach Xiao Dejun. And the director didn’t look happy at all.

“Why?”

“This is like the third or fourth time Sicheng has had us reschedule filming this scene, and then he shows up late.”

You realized that Sicheng was waiting at your apartment for a few extra minutes as you’d gotten out of the shower late. Was he late because of you?

At your wide eyes, Xukun chuckled.

“Not that late, only by like five minutes. But they don’t really get along anyway, so this happens.”

The argument seemed to be escalating past a simple disagreement or chastising, and you felt anxiety worm its way uncomfortably through your veins. Excusing yourself from Xukun, you approached the two, holding your hands out half in defense and half as a calm-down gesture.

“Hey, what’s up, guys?” You tried to keep your voice level, taking in their pink faces and Dejun’s clenched fists down by his side.

“We have rescheduled this shoot _four times_ at Sicheng’s request. Then he has the audacity to show up late,” Dejun’s voice spiked in anger, and he desperately fought to keep it under control as to not just shout in the middle of the set.

“Dejun, I—” Just as you were about to explain that it was your fault, Sicheng cut you off.

“It was five minutes late,” He hissed.

“It’s not the being late, Sicheng,” the director rubbed his face in frustration, only succeeding in making it redder. “It’s the fact that you have no regard for this production or the cast and crew who have to abide by your every whim and scheduling errors. If your daddy didn’t own my ass, I would’ve kicked yours out on the first day of filming.”

The actor was about ready to punch the other man in the face, which was not something you wanted to witness. Grabbing his arm, you insistently tugged him away from the director, “Give us a second, Dejun.”

He grumbled something in reply, but let you walk away.

You spotted a stylist who had been hesitantly waiting off to the side while they argued, what you presumed to be Sicheng’s outfit for the scene in her hands. With your hand still gripping his arm, you guided him towards her.

“You get changed and fucking cool it,” you ordered him, your voice dangerously low. “I’m going to go tell Dejun it was my fault.”

As you turned to make your way back to your other friend, Sicheng’s hand darted out to grab yours. When you looked back at him, his eyes were lowered and mouth practically in a pout as he requested, “No. Can you just… stay here?”

“Do you _want_ to get your ass beat?”

“Dejun’s scary when he’s angry, I can deal with it.”

“So can I.”

“Y/N… please.”

In mild confusion, but also concern for him, you slowly nodded. He thanked you before turning to his stylist. Sicheng only had to swap his jacket out for his character’s signature black leather one, and his own black sneakers for the pair of dark brown boots provided. You stayed as promised and watched as he changed then stood up straight again.

Wordlessly, and without even looking in your direction, Sicheng took your hand in his to make his way back over to Dejun. The director had an eyebrow raised as he observed your linked hands. But he made no move to comment on it, instead continuing to stare down your companion with suspicion.

Once Sicheng had stopped in front of him, he took a deep breath before saying, “I’m sorry, Dejun. Thank you for being patient with me and rescheduling for me. I’ll try to be more considerate and grateful for the rest of the cast and crew in the future.”

Dejun seemed wholeheartedly impressed, acknowledging his apology with a nod, “We start recording in two minutes. You and Yuqi are up first.”

Sicheng took this information with grace, declaring that he’s going to find Yuqi now. He waited for you for a moment, but you waved him off with a short smile. Once he was out of earshot, you turned to Dejun with wide eyes.

“Paparazzi,” Dejun answered your unspoken question, gesturing over to the end of the street, where there were a couple of people, those all-too-familiar cameras in their hands.

“Got it,” you looked back down at the hand that he had just been holding and had grabbed in earnest earlier when he requested you to stay with him while he changed.

Of course, what else could it have been?

* * *

As you were out to lunch with a few of the VIP lounge members—Ten, Yukhei, and Yangyang, who were promising distractions from your writer’s block and the fakeness of your relationship with Sicheng—your phone buzzed. You ignored it, listening eagerly to Ten’s newest gross and gory story of a surgery. This one was short for him, only four hours as opposed to his average of ten hours. But that didn’t mean that the details were any less macabre, easily sparking morbid interest among you and the other two as you hung onto his every word.

The buzzing came again. Then again. Then it wasn’t just your normal text buzz. Whoever it was, was now calling you. If this wasn’t one of your roommates calling you to let you know that the apartment was burning down, then it wasn’t worth it.

It wasn’t. It was Sicheng.

You declined the call.

“Did you just decline a call from your boyfriend?” Yangyang asked in mock surprise.

“Not my real boyfriend, assholes,” you grumbled as your friends snickered at your indignation. “Continue, Ten.”

“Where was I? Oh yeah, so my intern started throwing up on the anesthesiologist—”

He got cut off by your phone buzzing again.

“This man better be dying, or I’ll kill him myself,” you growled before swiftly answering the call. “Yeah?”

“Did you decline my call?” Sicheng sounded incredibly offended.

Your speakers must have been a little loud, as your friends burst into silent laughter at this.

“Maybe. What do you need?”

“You should stay over tonight.”

“ _What?_ ”

“You should stay over tonight.”

“No, no, I heard you. I mean: what the _fuck_ are you on, Dong Sicheng?”

“We’ve never stayed the night at each other’s places. That’s what couples do.”

“We’re not a real couple.”

He let out a short sigh of frustration, “There was an article published in a tabloid yesterday, speculating that our relationship is not real. It’s started circulating on the Internet, and their main point is that there’s been no proof of us ever spending nights together.”

“You really think people care enough to point that out and obsess over such a small fact?”

“Yes. It’s me, after all.”

“Please tell me you’re aware of how incredibly conceded that made you sound.”

“I meant… they thought I was dating Yuqi for quite a while. And before her, there were a bunch of other female celebrities they were trying to say I was dating. There’s people who still think I’m dating her, that I’m two-timing you, or that I’m a cheater. They’re latching onto anything to make me look bad. And it’s all centering around the fact that there’s no proof we’ve spent a night together.”

The way his voice faltered and dropped when he mentioned the fact that the press was constantly trying to make him look bad hit your heart in a way that had you agreeing to it before you could really think about what the hell you were agreeing to.

“My place, because you have roommates, right?”

“Right,” you echoed hollowly, just starting to process it.

“I’ll send you the address. And I’ll be home around seven.”

“Okay.”

“Aright, see you.”

“Bye.”

After hanging up, you started down at your phone screen, blinking blankly.

“Did I hear that correct?” Yukhei cut in. “Are you staying the night at Sicheng’s?”

“Guess so,” you sighed, turning your phone back off. “You know, in the guest room, or on the couch, or whatever.”

“Right.”

* * *

You thumbed the doorbell again, wondering what was taking Sicheng so long. He’d texted you his address as well as letting you know that he was home after filming took a little longer than expected. And yet you’d been standing in front of the door to his condo for five minutes. The bag on your shoulder was starting to feel uncomfortably heavy as you readjusted it impatiently.

Right as you were about to ring the doorbell for probably the fourth time, you heard the sound of the locking mechanism clicking and shifting. The door was swung open by a disheveled-looking Sicheng.

“Are you done?” He arched an eyebrow up and under the messy fringe falling over his face. There were distinct bags under his eyes, and you swore there was a line of dried drool trailing down the side of his mouth.

“Oh,” you retracted your hand from the doorbell. “Yeah.”

Sicheng stepped back from the door, opening it wider for you. With eyes already scanning the interior, you gratefully stepped into his home. It was a large condo, one of the only two on this floor of the building. Meaning that it was probably three times as big as your own apartment. And judging by the stairs behind the living room, he had a second story too.

All the furnishings were modern and probably no more than a couple years old. The glimpse of his kitchen that you got showed sleek stainless-steel appliances, stunning marble countertops, and deep brown cabinets.

You followed him into the living room, where you were greeted by furniture almost as lavish and plush as those in the VIP lounge. But a little more practical, as you found yourself less terrified of getting your shoes and drinks anywhere near it.

Sicheng stopped at the beginnings of a hallway coming off the living room. He opened the door to one of the rooms, gesturing you in, “This is one of the guest rooms. You can set your stuff down, settle in. I’ll have dinner ready in a few minutes.”

And with that, he left you.

You stepped into the room. It was a nice room, not too fancy, but definitely nicer than yours back in your own apartment.

Placing your bag down on the bed, you decided to take out some of your toiletries and put them in the bathroom. You assumed that the other door in your room that wasn’t the open closet door must be the bathroom.

You were correct, and left your things in there. Returning to the bedroom, you sat down on the bed. Then flopped back onto it. As you stared up at the ceiling, you let out a deep breath.

You were really going to stay the night at Dong Sicheng’s place, huh?

When you wandered back out to the kitchen, you saw Sicheng at the stovetop, pouring out portions of noodles and broth.

“Were you cooking or napping when I arrived?” You questioned.

He startled just a little before glancing at you over his shoulder, “Cooking.”

“Then why do you have dried drool on your face?”

He quickly went to rub at his chin and around his mouth, muttering, “Maybe I took a short nap.”

Sicheng turned the stove off and grabbed both bowls. He nodded towards the kitchen table for you to sit down, then set your own bowl down in front of you. Utensils were already placed, and you waited patiently for Sicheng to sit down.

He didn’t yet, returning to the cabinets to grab a couple glasses.

“What do you want to drink? I’ve got water, chardonnay, if you really want, and chocolate milk.”

The contrast of chardonnay and chocolate milk was funny to you, and you answered with some amusement, “Just water, please.”

He filled up both glasses with water, placing one in front of you, and one in front of his own seat catty corner to yours. As he sat down, his face held mild confusion when your expectant gaze was still on him.

“Why aren’t you eating?”

“I was waiting for you?” You replied with similar confusion. “Why is that weird for you?”

“I don’t know, I guess I just haven’t eaten with someone like this in a while.”

Despite his words rocketing through your brain, he simply shrugged and picked up his spoon.

With that, the two of you began eating in near perfect silence. You were overflowing with questions, but none of them were really related to your article. Most of them just focused on what the hell was happening. You two were having a sleepover, and it didn’t feel that weird.

Sicheng finished his bowl before you, sitting back in his chair as he patiently waited for you to finish your own. You were out of noodles, and just had a few more sips of broth.

After you’d drained the broth and brought your bowl back down from your lips, you glanced over at Sicheng. He had a small smirk on his face as he watched you, and you rolled your eyes.

Thinking that he was amused—or maybe disgusted—by your drinking the broth, you exclaimed, “You just did that too!”

“But I didn’t have soup dribbling down my chin,” he snickered as he stood up and started clearing the table.

You wiped at your face with your napkin, slightly embarrassed, “At least it wasn’t drool.”

“Are you going to put that in the article or something?”

“Maybe,” you teased. “I will… at least never let you live it down.”

“Great,” he shook his head as he cleaned the bowls and utensils.

You briefly glanced at the time, a little after nine. Sicheng shut off the faucet and turned back to you, clasping his hands together in front of him.

“I know you want to continue the interview, but I really want to catch up on a show.”

At his sheepish request, you couldn’t help but smile a little, “That’s okay, I have a little bit of work to do.”

His own grin flashed across his face for a moment before he went to lead the way to the living room. You fetched your laptop from your guest room before moving back out to the living room. Could you do your work in your room? Sure, but for some reason you wanted to stay in proximity to Sicheng. You were sure it was just awkwardness with being in someone’s house for the first time.

As you organized some notes, replied to an email from your professor, and scrolled down social media occasionally, Sicheng was absorbed in his show. It was some crime drama that you were pretty sure Xuanyi watched, but you knew hardly nothing about. You didn’t know enough to even keep up with the couple episodes he watched, giving up after your first few attempts to try to process what was happening.

You guessed that Sicheng had gotten caught up, or tired, as he exited out of the streaming service and stood up with a yawn. Between episodes, he had gotten the both of you a cup of tea, and now grabbed his empty one as well.

“Alright, sleep sounds fantastic to me,” he declared, cracking his back as well.

“Oh uhm, would you mind if I stayed out here for a little longer?” You requested somewhat self-consciously, looking between him and your laptop screen. “I’ll mute the TV, and wash my cup when I’m done.”

Sicheng seemed hesitant, but agreed anyway, “Sure, I guess. Don’t crash out here, okay? The sun will come through those windows directly on your face and wake you up at like 6 in the morning.”

“Okay, thanks.”

With a short nod, Sicheng turned down the lights a little before departing from the living room, leaving you to your own devices.

* * *

Nothing. Absolutely nothing was coming to you.

Every time it seemed you had something, that you were onto something good, you’d lose it. You’d write a sentence or two then furiously erase it. Your word count had increased by less than twenty, according the counter mocking you from the corner of your word document. Son of a bitch.

If you weren’t so caught up in your own self-pity, you might have noticed the soft sounds of socked feet padding down the hallways towards you. But you didn’t, not until a voice called out to you.

“You’re awake? Fucking hell, Y/N, it’s almost three in the morning.”

It was Sicheng, of course, standing in the threshold between the hallway and the living room. He was squinting his eyes against the dim lights, one hand coming up to cover his mouth as he yawned, and the other hung limply at his side. His hair was sticking up in different directions, and he seemed nearly ready to pass out against the wall he was leaning on.

You shrugged, “Can’t sleep. Can’t write. Guess I’ll die.”

A small noise came from him that could have been a chuckle, or maybe a grunt, and you felt guilty about him being awake right now. You knew how hard he’d been working on the drama, and he’d briefly told you of how he was trying to rework his contract with his agency to allow him to expand to other areas besides acting, but they were being stubborn. He really needed as much sleep as he could get.

“You should go back to sleep, Sicheng,” you tried to gently shoo him out of the room.

Despite your words, he lumbered over towards you, plopping himself down on the couch beside you.

“Nope,” he shook his head firmly, a hand reaching out to gently shut your laptop. “Talk to me.”

You let him close it, then set it aside yourself, “About what?”

“Whatever’s keeping you awake.”

“I don’t…” you stopped with a thoughtful frown. “I don’t know why I’m awake. My brain just… won’t shut up, I guess.”

“The first thing that comes to your head, then.”

“You should go back to sleep.”

“But I’m not going to. Alright, next thing.”

Your night continued on like that. Sicheng would prompt you to say something, reply to it, then repeat. A structured, but somehow relaxing conversation. Before you even knew it, your first yawn of the night came to you. Your eyelids were getting heavier, and despite your body and your brain and wanting sleep, you found yourself resisting now. You were having possibly the most normal interaction and conversation with Sicheng that you’d ever had. No judgments, no cameras, no pretending to be something you weren’t. Just stories, and discussions, and even jokes occasionally. It was nice.

But after your second yawn, Sicheng took note, a victorious smile crossing his lips, “Tired?”

“A little,” you admitted.

“Success,” he stood up, one hand on your forearm to bring you up with him. “Come on, I think we can still get two or three hours before my meeting.”

At his casual comment, you were incredulous, “You have a meeting, and you just stayed up until almost six in the morning with me?”

“Guess so.”

The two of you stopped in front of your guest room, Sicheng letting go of your arm as you opened the door.

“Thank you, Sicheng.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Night.”

* * *

After waking up later that morning, already ready to go back to sleep again, you put all your things back into your bag before shuffling over to the foyer. Sicheng had woken you up just a few minutes ago, having set his own alarm to make sure he was on time to his meeting. Now he just had a couple things to grab before leaving. With a yawn, you shifted your bag strap on your shoulder.

Sicheng emerged from his room, looking surprisingly awake, “Ready?”

“Yep,” you nodded, following him through the front door.

In the elevator, you watched blandly as the numbers slowly decreased.

“So what’s your meeting for?”

“Contract negotiations.”

“Oh, I hope it goes well for you. What other stuff do you want to do, exactly?”

“Well right now I can only act in one drama at a time, and I’m limited only to TV series. But Xiaojun is directing a huge film soon and wants me to read for it, which I can’t do under my current contract. Not to mention I can’t even do commercial films, modelling, nothing except TV dramas.”

“Wow that’s… a shitty contract,” you deadpanned, earning a side smile from the actor.

“Yeah, I was really naïve when I signed it.”

The elevator dinged before the doors opened, and the people waiting let you two deboard before getting on themselves.

Sicheng suddenly and completely derailed your conversation, “When we get out there, can I kiss you?”

“What?” You nearly choked on your own tongue.

“On the sidewalk, let me kiss you”

“What the fuck—”

“Just a stage kiss, promise. I’ll be kissing my own thumbs,” he pleaded as the two of you got closer to the front doors.

As they opened automatically for you, you were still bewildered, “Why?”

“Please,” he stopped you out front, desperately clinging to your arm.

“Wh—”

“Y/N!”

“Okay, fine, fine!”

Then Sicheng’s hands were on the side of your face, his face swooping closer to yours. Your heart stopped as right before your lips made contact, his thumbs were pressing over your mouth. Then it was over, and he was standing up straight again. He had an amused grin on his face that he covered with his face mask, mirth still twinkling in his eyes.

“Bye, Y/N,” he waved before taking off.

You had enough wits about you to force yourself to not just stand there dumb-founded. After all, you two were supposed to be a couple that had been dating for over two years, one little peck theoretically wouldn’t faze you this much. Your legs obeyed stiffly, and you hurried down the sidewalks in the opposite direction from him.

* * *

It had been a week since the last time you’d seen Sicheng. Not by design, just conflicting schedules. In that time you’d actually been able to get most of your article penned out. Just in time, too; this afternoon, you had your final meeting with your professor to discuss your rough draft before submitting it at the end of the semester, which was quickly approaching.

She was perched on the other end of the small couch from you, the door to her office slightly ajar as she leafed through your draft. Occasionally, she made some small marks or noises of response to whatever you had written. As she closed it and set it on the cushion between the two of you, she cleared her throat.

“An interesting read, from just my initial skim-through,” Professor Zhang commented. Then came exactly what you were expecting, “However…”

You silently implored her to continue, needing to know what parts to fix.

“It’s interesting, like I said. But it’s not thought-provoking. It feels like the bastard love-child of a tabloid article and tween magazine. If that’s your intention and vision, by all means, accomplished, A-plus. But that’s not your vision, is it, Y/N?”

A short and nearly cynical chuckle came from you, “It’s not, you’re correct, Professor. I knew I shouldn’t have done on some stupid drama actor. I should’ve _actually_ done healthcare—”

Your professor cuts you off sternly, “Y/N, this is not a bad article or subject, by any means. Change the tone, change the focus, and change the theme, give the readers something more meaningful to take away from it, and it’s a career-maker.”

Your mouths parts in awe at her words, “Really?”

“Yes. Strip the article, your notes, even your subject. Strip them down the core, to the bare bones, and start over again. Rebuild it into something you’ll be proud of. Into something I can publish.”

Her last words ignited an excitement in you, and you immediately shot up from the couch, grabbing your rough draft.

“I will! Thank you so much, Professor Zhang,” you bowed hastily to her, not missing the fond smile on her face as she watched you hurry out of the room.

Strip it down. Bare bones. Rebuild.

You could do this.

* * *

Two days until your piece was due.

The door of Sicheng’s condo stared back at you as you stood in front of it hesitantly, gripping your final draft in white-knuckled and nervous fingers. At least they weren’t shaking.

You figured that you owed Sicheng a read-through of the article before you officially submitted it. Not to mention that you really should talk about what would happen now. With your article over, he had no end of your agreement to uphold, it would all be over.

Right? After all, you wouldn’t be getting anything out of continuing to be his fake-girlfriend anymore. What would your break-up story be? Would there be any way for you to avoid backlash from the media, fans, and your friends and relatives alike?

Before you could think about it, your hand had rapped violently and suddenly against the door. You hadn’t told him beforehand that you were coming over, you didn’t even know if he’d be home or not.

A few moments passed, and you decided to just slip the draft under his door and leave. You wouldn’t benefit from being there when he read it. And who knew if he would even _want_ to read it. Or really see you again since he’d get no kind of career-boosting benefit from it. That’s surely all he wanted anyway.

Just as you’d started bending down to slip the paper under the door, a voice came from behind you, “Y/N?”

You startled forward, knocking your head against the door. Hissing, you clutched at your head as the owner of the voice walked over to you, gently helping you up.

“Clumsy, clumsy,” Sicheng tsked, a fond amusement in his voice at your predicament, letting go of you to deftly unlock his door. “You want to come in? I assume you were trying to squeeze yourself under the door, right?”

“No,” you scowled, but followed him in anyway, pausing behind him as he stopped to disarm the alarm.

Inside, he set his bag down on the counter before going into the kitchen, still talking to you over his shoulder as he got a couple glasses down and filled them both with water, “I was kind of getting worried, since I haven’t heard from you in a while. Thought that we had you know, ‘broken up’ and you forgot to tell me or something.”

You didn’t have the heart to even attempt a light-hearted chuckle. It had been almost three weeks since you’d seen Sicheng. The first week after your meeting with your professor, you’d spent almost every second with Sicheng, digging deeper, discovering more and more about him than you had gotten in the past months of your interactions.

And as Sicheng turned to you with a thoughtful and concerned frown, you realized that as you had learned more about him, he had also learned about you. For every question you had for him, he seemed to have three more for you. It was off-putting at first, but became somewhat comforting, how genuinely interested he seemed to be in you.

“Everything okay, Y/N?” He questioned, handing you one of the glasses.

“Yeah, yeah,” you shook your head to clear away the unsettling feeling that had settled over you. “I actually came over to give you the final draft of my article. I’m turning it in on Friday.”

As you held the papers out to him, he seemed to realize the same thing you had. This was the beginning of the end.

He accepted them, skimming over the title page, “Thanks, I’ll make sure to read it tonight. Friday, you said you’re turning it in?”

“Yes,” you confirmed, well aware of what Friday was supposed to be.

The last day of filming for Sicheng’s drama, the whole cast and crew were going to be celebrating. And everyone was expecting you to be there too. Not just as Sicheng’s supposed girlfriend, but as their friend, too.

“And do you have to go in and turn it in in person?”

An odd question.

“No, it’s an online submission.”

“Then do you think… you could still come to the end of filming party? I know that Yuqi, Xiaojun, and Xukun would really like having you there.”

“We’ll have to keep pretending that we’re dating.”

“One more night, Y/N. I’m okay with it if you are.”

You pursed your lips in thought before giving in, “Okay, yeah. One more night. So I can, you know, see Yuqi and Xukun and the others one last time.”

* * *

Quietly closing the studio door behind you, you crept closer to the set, bouquet of carnations in hand. There was a buzz around the set, where the filming of the last scene was about to commence. Everyone was there, from personal assistants to cameramen to stylists to stars to guest stars to lighting and sound crew. Everybody. Your eyes scanned the larger-than-normal crowd, looking for one person.

“Hey, Y/N!” Xukun waved to you from across the studio, picking up his pace to jog over to you.

You met him halfway, “Hey, Xukun. Where’s Sicheng?”

“He was right behind me,” the actor turned to peer around behind before focusing back on you with a shrug. “But I guess he had somewhere else to be. Makeup, maybe. Anyway, I’m gonna take a wild guess and say those flowers aren’t for me.”

“No, there not,” you admitted, feeling a little silly now. “Do you think he’ll like them?”

“Since they’re from you, absolutely,” your friend gave you an encouraging smile, patting your shoulder. “I’ll help you look for him.”

“You must have something you need to be doing right now.”

“You know me too well. I’m hiding from Director Xiaojun’s assistant director right now, actually.”

“Out in the open? You’re a giant, I don’t think—”

“Mr. Cai! Mr. Cai Xukun!” A small and stern man came out of nowhere, and the actor rolled his eyes.

“That worked really well,” you commented, very amused as the new arrival latched onto the much larger man’s arm.

“There you are! Director Xiaojun is looking for you, you know.”

Xukun sighed, “I’ll see you later, Y/N. Like I said, you might want to look in Makeup first.”

“Thanks, have fun, Xukun.”

“Oh, buckets of it.”

The assistant director had lost his patience and yanked your friend away from you, followed by whines of pain from him. Shaking your head at the normal antics between Xukun and the serious and attentive Assistant Director Lin, you made your way further into the studio.

You had just approached the door to Makeup when it was thrown open. Your breath caught in your throat for a second as you gave the figure a full and shameless look from head to toe.

Sicheng was in his character’s signature brown boots, black jeans, and worn leather jacket. In fact, not much was different, other than his bloodied face and the look he was giving you back. Suddenly you were reminded not only of the bouquet in your hands and the nicer-than-normal clothes you were wearing, but of how genuinely attractive Sicheng really was. There was a reason the media was calling him the Nation’s Heartthrob, after all.

“You look nice,” he finally spoke up, and you took a step back from him to give yourself breathing room again.

“You said party, so I—I don’t know.”

“It’ll work. I mean, it’s good, Y/N.”

“Thanks.”

Sicheng cleared his throat, playfulness returning to his tone as he asked, “Those flowers for Xukun?”

“Considering I just talked to him and they’re still in my hands, no.”

“Yuqi?”

“Not for her either.”

“Xiaojun?”

“No,” you huffed, a small pout coming to your face as you realized what he was playing at. “Don’t make me say it.”

“Say what? That they’re for Assistant Director Lin, right?”

“No.”

“Well I am absolutely stumped here.”

“They’re for you, asshole,” you grumbled, shoving them into his hands begrudgingly. “There, I admit it, I’m lame.”

Sicheng seemed absolutely delighted, moving them to one hand to be able to grab your hand and gently tug you into his chest, “It’s sweet, Y/N. Thanks.”

Then a pair of lips were pecking your temple, so casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And for just a split-second, it felt like it was. Until you both froze, realizing it. With an awkward chuckle, Sicheng put you at arm’s distance again, and you felt strangely cold not pressed against him.

“Really, thank you,” he led the way down to where his changing room was. “I’ll put them in here, give me a second.”

When he reemerged, your face still felt warm to the touch, and you desperately changed the subject, “So I’m not on set for a couple weeks and you get your ass kicked?”

He chuckled, raising his eyebrows, one of which was split open, “FX makeup. Hot, right?”

“I prefer my men _not_ looking like they’re on the brink of death.”

“I think I should be offended by that.”

“Definitely,” you teased as the two of you ended up behind the cameras.

Xukun had apparently escaped Assistant Director Lin, as he was on the set, reading over the script one more time as the crew put the finishing preparations for filming. You spotted Yuqi, waving her over.

“You made it! Did Sicheng lock you up again?” She hugged you tightly.

Sicheng scoffed, “You say that every time you go more than two days without seeing her, Yuqi.”

“Don’t start with me on being clingy, Mr. ‘Y/N hasn’t texted me in the past two hours I think I might die.’”

Your jaw dropped in partial amusement and partial disbelief, rounding on Sicheng, “Oh?”

“She’s exaggerating. It was more like five hours,” he mumbled, looking down to fix the tuck of his shirt.

“Sure, Sicheng,” your friend’s tone of voice and facial expression made it clear that she didn’t believe him at all. “Anyway, Y/N. Even though the season’s over, we still need to hang out whenever Sicheng lets you out of his basement!”

“I live on the fifth floor, how could I possibly have a basement?”

Exchanging a look with Yuqi, the two of you burst into laughter at this, to which he only rolled his eyes.

“You two are so annoying together.” He joined in on the banter, “I made a mistake letting Y/N out today.”

Then the three of you were all cackling together, drawing the attention of a few passing crew members. Right as you started to sober up, Dejun approached you all, looking slightly concerned but he ultimately decided not to address it.

“Sicheng, Yuqi, you’re on,” he directed the actors to the set before looking to you. “Y/N, you can sit next to me.”

“Really? Right next to the Director?”

“Yeah, why not? Better than standing all the way back there, right?” He referred to where you normally stood back and off the side of the filming, wanting to minimize your involvement and opportunities to possibly get in the way.

This was the last scene, so that’s probably why he was making exceptions now.

Even though Yuqi had joined Xukun on the set, Sicheng was still hanging back behind the cameras with you. You looked between him and Dejun hesitantly, “Sure, give me a second.”

Dejun nodded before returning to his own chair, and you looked to Sicheng expectantly.

He rubbed the back of his neck for a second, “Wish me luck?”

“Luck,” you reached out to squeeze his hand.

He’d never asked for anything like this before filming, he normally just gave you a short nod to acknowledge your existence then seemingly forgot about you until he inevitably had to take you home again. This time, a genuine smile came across his face as he squeezed your hand back before taking his place with his costars.

Walking over to Dejun’s director chair, you were pleasantly surprised to see that there was, in fact, an empty seat right beside it. A front row seat to all the action.

* * *

The scene was a one-take wonder. And by one-take wonder, you meant _seventy-take shitshow_ , of course.

If it wasn’t Sicheng messing up a line, it was Xukun coming in too soon, or Yuqi tripping on her own shadow, or a random camera cutting out, or the sound guy dropping a boom mic too low into frame. They weren’t this inept, you knew that. Nobody wanted this to be over. It wasn’t truly going to be over, after all, a second season had already been confirmed. This was a temporary end, their story would continue after tonight.

Unlike yours with Sicheng.

Finally, Dejun called out his last ‘cut!’ and a single, unanimous sigh was let out from everybody there. Then it was overtaken by cheering, congratulations, hugging, handshakes, tears, whooping, gratitude, and most any emotion on the spectrum. It was over.

A makeup artist made quick work of removing the actors’ makeup, and a stylist ushered them away afterwards in just as much of a hurry to get them back into their own clothes. Probably so they could start the party as soon as possible.

You didn’t get to even give Sicheng your congratulations or anything until the rest of the cast and crew started filtering into the elevators and up the stairs. Apparently, the party would be taking place on the roof of the film studio.

Sicheng emerged from the stylist’s room in his own clothes, a simple all-black suit that you’d seen him in before at events and in the VIP lounge. He had an adrenaline-fueled grin across his face as he approached you, wrapping his long arms around you with no hesitation.

“We did it!” He sighed happily.

“By ‘we,’ you’re not including me, right?” You said with humor, patting his back. “Congrats, Sicheng.”

“Sure I am, you were like… moral support through most of this. For a lot of people,” Sicheng countered, taking your hand to bring you over to the elevator where a couple other crew members were just boarding.

“Oh.”

* * *

The party was in full-swing an hour later, and you were fully relaxed on a couch on the rooftop patio space. Strings of lights were hung up around, and champagne was flowing. You hadn’t had much yourself, just some short sips when toasts were being made earlier.

Sicheng was across the patio from you, easily chatting with Dejun, a sight that made you happy to see. It was nice that they seemed to be getting along a lot better now. At least you knew that you’d still be able to see Dejun after this, whether or not you’d see the rest of your friends, however, was a mystery. An easily-solved mystery. There would be no way. After this, you and Sicheng would have your “break-up,” you would graduate, become a journalist, and live as normal a life as possible, returning to how you were before you were the girlfriend of famous actor, the Nation’s Heartthrob, Dong Sicheng.

Your legs felt stiff as you went to readjust to a more comfortable position, so you decided to stand up and walk around to get your blood flowing again. Excusing yourself from the guest stars and crew members you’d been with, your destination was Sicheng and Dejun, however a different and much larger body was suddenly blocking your view.

“Oh, Xukun,” you smiled up at your friend. “Having fun?”

“Yeah, are you?” He shot back.

“Kind of. I was sitting for way too long, though. My legs are fighting back.”

He chuckled, gesturing towards the railing around the edge of the rooftop, “Care to stand with me, then?”

“And odd request, but sure,” you giggled, following him over.

As you leaned against the railing, you swore you could see half of Hong Kong. It wasn’t as nice of a view as the one from the VIP lounge, but you could still enjoy it as a slight breeze nipped against your cheeks and your lungs greedily took in the fresh air.

A heavy weight had settled in your chest, right above your lungs and below your collarbones. This was your last night with Sicheng. And maybe you were just a little relieved.

“Why aren’t you with your boyfriend?” Xukun questioned, swirling around the contents of his glass before taking a drink.

“I was walking towards him when someone decided to drag me over here.”

“I did not _drag_ you here.”

You weren’t sure what compelled you, maybe the feeling that it was the end, so it wouldn’t matter anyway, but you blurted out, “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course, Y/N,” he tilted his head to the side.

“It’s kind of a secret right now, but if the article is published it won’t really matter anyway.”

“What is it?”

“Sicheng and I aren’t dating. We never were.”

Clearly, that was not what Xukun was expecting. His eyebrows shot up to make room for his widened eyes, his mouth falling open just a little as he cocked his to the other side then back again, “Wow. Really?”

“Yeah it was a… weird business agreement that I’m still not entirely sure of how it happened.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Not really.”

“So… does that mean that I could maybe take you to dinner sometime?”

You didn’t have enough fucks left in your body to be caught off-guard. At this point you were in a state of ‘this might as well happen,’ and instead let out a cynical chuckle, “That’s sweet, Xukun, but I think I’ve had enough of dating a famous actor. The cameras following us everywhere, planning out every date and interaction to maximize positive feedback, red carpets where everyone is watching your every move looking for imperfections, and hate comments from fans who are too possessive of their idols. Yeah, I’m ready for it to be over.”

Xukun thankfully didn’t seem too put off by your rejection of him, instead raising his glass towards yours, “Hey, I’ll toast to that. A semi-normal life.”

You clinked glasses before knocking back the rest of yours in one go, “Here’s hoping.”

* * *

It was late. You didn’t know exactly how late, as your phone had died some time ago, but your internal clock told you _way too late._

You’d left Xukun shortly after your conversation and had found Sicheng again, aware of the fact that couples are usually attached at the hip at social events, and you needed to keep that up, for one more night.

Thankfully, right as you were nearly ready to pass out on his shoulder, Sicheng leaned over to murmur in your ear, “Ready to go home?”

“Please,” you whispered back.

Your goodbyes to everybody took much too long for your liking. Sicheng managed to get roped into one more group photo of all the actors and actresses by Junhui, a guest star you had only met once before at the fateful premiere you’d been tricked into going to. That felt so long ago. Then another picture was with the full cast and crew. You’d been tugged into that one yourself. 

_Finally_ you were down in Sicheng’s car. He’d driven himself to the studio while you’d taken the bus. In the passenger seat, you were glad to be off your feet again. The twenty-five-minute ordeal of saying goodbye to everybody and the walk down to the car had woken you up, and you looked out the window at the passing buildings.

“So… how are we breaking up?” Sicheng asked, breaking the dead silence that had washed over the two of you.

It had been palpable, heavy, and now felt even more constricting that you were addressing it.

“Can we talk about that tomorrow, Sicheng?” Your voice sounded very close to a pathetic whine as you squeezed your eyes shut like a stubborn toddler. “Please, I’m fucking tired.”

“Okay, yeah, sure,” he was chewing on his lip when you looked over at him. “So I’m taking you to your apartment, right?”

“Where else would you take me?”

“My place.”

“Why on earth would I go there?”

“Didn’t you say that both your roommates are out of town? It’s dangerous, staying in your apartment alone.”

“You stay in your condo all alone.”

“I have a real security system. You have a single deadbolt lock.”

“Sicheng, I’ve done it before, I’ll be fine.”

You continued watching him with interest, wondering why he was suddenly worried for your safety. Or desperate to get you to stay over. Either way, you hadn’t the faintest clue as to why. His grip on the steering wheel was tight, knuckles turning shades of pink and white, and he occasionally flexed his fingers before squeezing them around it again. He was agitated, fidgeting in his seat, brows furrowed tightly, cracking his neck every so often.

“Sicheng,” you called out his name softly. “Maybe you’re right. Can I stay over?”

Even in the faint light of passing streetlights, you could see his features visibly relax, “Of course.”

* * *

You’d slept over at Sicheng’s once since your initial stay, except this time you hadn’t been planning on it. Meaning that you had to borrow a charger, his shower, and clothes from him. Despite it being late, as you got dressed in your guest room, you could hear Sicheng moving around in the kitchen and living room. Walking out, you smelled something coming from the kitchen. Was he making himself a midnight snack?

Stopped in the threshold of his kitchen, you leaned in the doorway, arms crossed over your chest as you watched him curiously. He was reheating some leftovers, not having noticed you yet.

“Did you not eat anything at the party?” You questioned, gaining his attention. “There was a whole ass buffet there.”

Sicheng was still looking at you, taking in the visage of you wearing his clothes. You fiddled with the hem of the loose shirt anxiously, the silent stare only concerning you even more.

“Sicheng!”

He snapped out of it with a frank smile, “I visited my parents last week, and my mom sent me home with a bunch of leftovers. Best thing I’ve ever tasted, you want some?”

“Mommy’s boy,” you said with a fond smirk.

“Yeah, I guess so. You put that in your article. As well as the drool.”

Taking a bowl and spoon from him, you leaned against his kitchen counter, blowing at the steam rising from it, “Did you finish it?”

“No,” he admitted sheepishly. “It’s not the article itself, I think it’s great. I just… don’t like endings, I guess.”

“At least today wasn’t the end. Not really.”

His gaze snapped up to look at you in disbelief, “Really?”

“Yeah, you have a contract for another season, remember?”

“Oh, right,” Sicheng seemed almost disappointed as he cast his eyes back to the wisps of water vapor swirling above his bowl.

Something was off.

Really, really off.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore and roughly set your bowl down on the counter. A little bit of broth sloshed out, but you paid it no attention as you faced Sicheng, shoulders squared.

“Sicheng, you’re being weird.”

“How do you mean?”

“You want me to make an alphabetized list of just the stuff that’s happened since I got in your car, or the entire night?”

He gently set his bowl down too, avoiding eye contact as he refused to reply.

“Sicheng, talk to me. Like our first sleepover. Neither of us are going to sleep, or even _eating_ , until you talk to me.”

Your companion seemed nearly in pain as he let out a short and half-hearted laugh. Shaking his head, he looked to you imploringly, “Don’t make me say it, Y/N.”

“Tell me,” you set your hand on his hand gently. “Please.”

He let out a heavy sigh, “When we started this whole thing, our fake relationship, I was so good at it, because that was just a part I was playing, it wasn’t supposed to mean anything—”

You weren’t expecting to feel your heart shatter in that moment, but it did, your hand jerking back equally fast. Your breathing was ragged as you took a couple steps back from him, the realization of your own stupid hopes and feelings slamming its way through your entire system, “Oh my god I’m— I’m an idiot.”

“Wait, Y/N, let me finish. I said it wasn’t _supposed_ to. But it did. I really, really do like you, that’s why now… I’m being so bad at it.”

Sicheng’s hands hesitantly reached out towards you, and you let him take both of yours in his warm and familiar grasp. You’d held hands more times than you could count, but this time felt different. It felt breathtakingly surreal, but painfully real at the same time.

“Y/N, talk to me,” Sicheng was almost begging, and you dumbly shook your head in reply.

Almost negating your head shake, you gripped Sicheng’s hand back, needing to ground yourself to something in that moment. Your head was spinning, but everything quieted down when you finally looked him in the eyes.

“I—” you croaked out hesitantly, readjusting your hands to be able to lace your fingers with his. “Yeah, same. Me too. I… am also bad at this, apparently.”

An almost hysterical laugh erupted from Sicheng as he nearly doubled over. He stood up straight again, still clutching at your hands, distressed again, “I can’t… I can’t promise you a normal life, or even a semi-normal one, Y/N. There’s still going to be paparazzi, hate, all of that.”

You took a deep breath, “You heard my conversation with Xukun.”

“I was going to find you to actually confess to you in the first place, but I heard a little of your conversation and bailed. Y/N, if that’s really what you want, for this all to be over, I’m okay with it. And I’m sorry for everything that you’ve been through just for me to get a little good press.”

“Hey… stop feeling sorry, and start feeling thankful.”

“Why?”

You let go of his hands to instead cradle his face between yours, “Because you found someone crazy enough who wants to be with you anyway.”

“I did?” He let you bring his face closer to you until you could rest your foreheads together.

“Yeah,” your nose bumped his in something that could almost be called an affectionate nuzzle.

“Can I kiss you?”

“There’s no paparazzi here,” you quipped.

“That’s the point. I’ll hide you away from them forever, if that’s what you want.”

“In your dungeon that you definitely have on the fifth floor?”

“Precisely.”

You pulled back from him slightly, eyes rolling as your arms wrapped around his neck instead, “Oh just fucking kiss me.”

Sicheng gently placed a hand on each of your cheeks, taking a moment as if he was trying to memorize every square inch of your features. Then his lips were coming closer and closer to your own. It’s familiar, but so incredibly different. This time, his thumbs didn’t block the incoming kiss. If anything, you got impatient and closed the gap yourself at the last second. He kissed you tenderly, as if he might scare you off, or maybe he was still doubtful of whether or not this was for real. Or maybe he just wanted to take his time with your first kiss.

Which he certainly did. The cliché drama watcher in you would say that it felt as though time stopped as his lips moved against yours in the most magical way. But truly, you had no words to describe it other _right_. It just felt right.

When you finally broke apart, you let out a shaky giggle, “This is most definitely not how an interview is supposed to go.”

“When have we ever done anything like a normal interview?”

A thought suddenly popped into your mind, and you murmured, “So why don’t you like being called WinWin, exactly?”

“You’re such a journalist,” he huffed, kissing the question from your mind as you melted against him again.


End file.
